It took them over an hour to wrestle the damn thing up the fire escape. Ray enjoyed the part he spent admiring Fraser's muscles—Fraser couldn't see him through the waving fronds of the tree, so it wasn't like he was going to get caught staring—but the part where they were both trying to move the tree (usually in opposite directions) was not Ray's idea of a good time.
And once they got it into Ray's living room, it was too big; they had to cut off the top six inches before they could wedge it into the corner. Fraser said it was like the tip of the tree was upstairs, in Mr. Golecki's apartment.
The whole process would have made Ray cranky, except that Fraser was so obviously happy. They had pine sap all over their hands and pine needles in their hair and down their shirts, and Fraser was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Ray figured the whole tree thing probably reminded him of home, and if that gave Ray a sharp kind of ache—remembering, again, that Chicago wasn't home to Fraser—he wasn't enough of a Grinch to stomp on it.
They eventually got it standing, and Fraser wasn't even fazed by the fact that Ray didn't have any ornaments anymore. He'd been dreading saying "Stella took 'em," not wanting to see the pity on Fraser's face, but Fraser just said, "ah," and started rifling through Ray's desk drawers.
Ray shrugged and went to order Chinese. When he got back, Fraser handed him a paper snowflake. "Hang this," Fraser said, and started folding and snipping again.
The tree looked kind of sad with just the one snowflake on it, but Fraser was pretty quick with the scissors. Ray picked up a piece of paper and turned it over a few times, trying to remember how to make a bird.
When Fraser said something about gifts, Ray felt like a heel. "I, um, didn't know we were doing gifts," Ray said, lamely. "I mean, there was that thing at the station..." The real reason was, he didn't know what the hell Fraser would want, and it wasn't like there was anybody he could ask.
"Please, Ray, don't give it another moment's thought. This afternoon with you putting up your tree is gift enough for me," Fraser said, and it was weirdly formal, but Ray had the feeling Fraser meant it.
They sat there a while in silence, Ray staring intently at the misshapen crinkle of paper in his hands trying to figure out where his crane went wrong, Fraser snipping snowflakes again. The whole thing was so cozy and domestic it almost made Ray's heart hurt.
"If money were no object, what would you want for Christmas?"
The question startled Ray. "A Caribbean vacation," he said, automatically.
Fraser paused in his work and looked at Ray, curiously. "I suppose you'd enjoy the sand and the sun," he said, after a moment.
"Oh, yeah. Sand, sun, daiquiris, women in bikinis: can't beat it."
Fraser looked down. "Ah," he said, and returned to his snowflake. Ray had the feeling he'd just given the wrong answer. But how could he give the wrong answer to a question like that? Fraser asked what he wanted, and he said something he wanted.
Except, as he thought about it, it didn't really sound that appealing anymore. Yeah, there were women in bikinis, but most of them had men on their arms. And the ones who didn't, didn't usually go for guys like Ray. "I dunno," he said, finally, to break the silence. "That used to be my dream vacation, but I'm not sure it is anymore."
"Hm," Fraser said, still not looking up.
"What about you? What would you want?"
"My needs are relatively simple," Fraser began, and Ray snorted.
"I'm not talking about needs, I'm talking about wants. Isn't there anywhere you want to go?"
"I've heard Mongolia is fascinating," Fraser said, a little absently, as he rose to hang his snowflake on the tree. It was starting to really look like a Christmas tree, Ray thought, which was pretty cool.
"Really?" Ray wasn't a hundred percent sure he could find Mongolia on a map, but that probably didn't matter.
"The traditional lifestyle is nomadic, and I expect there are similarities with traditional Inuit culture." Fraser pursed his lips, removed the snowflake, then put it about a foot higher and slightly to the left. Apparently satisfied, he returned to the couch.
Ray gave up on the origami and took another swig of his beer. "Huh," he said. Leave it to Fraser to be interested in places nobody ever thought about going.
"So if the Caribbean isn't your dream vacation anymore, what is?"
Ray tried to think about it, but he wasn't coming up with anything. "How about where you come from?"
"The Territories?"
"Yeah. Must be neat up there if you miss it so much."
Fraser sighed. "Is it that obvious?"
"I am a detective," Ray said, feeling a little bit miffed.
"So you are," Fraser said. Then, turning to the wall behind him, he muttered something that sounded like, "I'm not interested in what else you think I'm revealing," but before Ray could ask him to repeat himself, Fraser excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he came back he changed the subject before Ray could ask.
An hour later, tree decorated, Chinese food consumed, dishes washed, Ray circled back to the question of blue-sky things Fraser wanted.
"You're holding back on me." Ray wasn't sure why he was so certain of it, but he was.
"How do you mean?"
"There's something you want for Christmas and you're not telling me what it is."
"You don't need to get me anything, Ray, I already—"
Ray shook his head. "Stop thinking about reality. What would you want, if you could get anything?"
Fraser looked away. "You really don't want to know."
That hurt. "Huh? We're friends, aren't we?"
Fraser glanced back at him, looking startled, like—like a caribou in the headlights. If they had headlights up where Fraser came from. Ray was pretty sure they had caribou.
"Of course we are," Fraser said.
"Then tell me what your dream present would be."
"Why are you making such a fuss over this?"
Ray spread his hands, helplessly. "I just...I want to know." And then he waited.
"Phoradendron flavescens," Fraser said, finally, and stood and reached for his hat. He looked...stiff. Sad.
Ray didn't have the heart to tell him he didn't have any idea what that was.
"I really must go," Fraser said.
"Thanks for your help with the tree."
"Anytime, Ray."
"Hey—you working on Christmas?"
Fraser nodded. "Until seven."
"Want to come over after you get off work?"
"Don't you need to be at the Vecchio's?"
"I'll be there in the morning, but I ought to be back by three or four, the way it usually goes," Ray said, trying not to grimace. Last year he'd felt lonelier than ever, the one weird Polish duck in that house full of Italian swans. He needed something to look forward to after that.
"I'd love to," Fraser said, and something in his posture made him look less miserable already. "If I can bring dinner."
"I'll have enough lasagna to last me a month," Ray protested.
"I'll bring dessert, then."
"You're on."
Ray stood there watching while Fraser put on his coat and headed out the door. And then Ray went and powered up his laptop. Whatever foradend--whatever was, Ray was going to find out, and if there was any way to get any, he figured he'd put some under the tree.
No matter which way he spelled it, Ray came up with one answer: Fraser wanted mistletoe.
Why the hell would Fraser want mistletoe? Some of the websites said you could make tea out of it, to cure internal bleeding, but Fraser wasn't bleeding, was he? Some people said it cured cancer, but Ray didn't even want to think about Fraser having that.
And it wasn't expensive or hard to find; any florist in Chicago would have it, this time of year. So why was it the wish Fraser hadn't wanted to say?
Ray had to admit mistletoe played right into his own pathetic fantasies—necking with Fraser on the couch, kissing him for a million years, getting hard nice and slow. If Fraser knew he was Ray's number-one jerk-off fantasy, he'd be back in Canada before you could say "thank you kindly."
But Ray's fantasies weren't the point. The point was, Fraser wanted mistletoe. Bad enough not to ask for it. Ray had the niggling feeling he was missing something obvious, here.
When it hit him, Ray had to get up and pace around the apartment. What if Fraser wanted mistletoe for the same reason he did?
Nah. That couldn't be it. It just couldn't be.
A little voice in the back of his head asked him why not, but he told it to shut the fuck up. He was not in the market to have his hopes smashed again, absolutely not, no way and nohow.
When Fraser arrived on Christmas night, Ray was up on a ladder with the sprig of mistletoe in his back pocket, a tack in his mouth, and a hammer in one hand. But the second he heard the knock, he chickened out: spat out the nail, climbed down the ladder, and thrust the hammer under the tree where he hoped Fraser wouldn't see it.
"Hey," he said, opening the door. Fraser was pink-cheeked from the cold and had snowflakes still melting on his hair. It was all Ray could do not to reach up and brush them away.
He took a hasty step back. Damn: buying the mistletoe was obviously a bad idea. He'd always been able to control those thoughts before; why not now?
"I brought cheesecake," Fraser said, thrusting the box into Ray's hands.
"Cool. C'mon in."
"And Diefenbaker," Fraser said, unnecessarily, as the wolf bounded in and tried to dislodge the white pastry box.
Ray laughed, feeling more at-ease already. It was bizarre that having a wolf for a chaperone made him feel better about spending the evening with Fraser, but hey, whatever worked. "No cheesecake for you," he said to Dief, heading for the kitchen.
The wolf barked and nipped at Ray's ass.
"Hey!" Ray turned around just in time to see Diefenbaker dragging his prize to the corner. The piece of string with the mistletoe on it.
"Oh God," Ray muttered, his heart making like a punk rock snare drum.
"Diefenbaker!" Fraser pried the herb from his mouth. When he whirled around to face Ray, his face was flushed, not from the cold this time.
"This is toxic. What on earth were you thinking, giving it to him?"
"It wasn't for him," Ray said, automatically.
They were standing hardly two feet apart, Ray still clutching the cheesecake box, Fraser still wearing his winter coat. Ray was pretty sure he looked terrified. Fraser looked...furious.
Ray's hopes sank.
"It was stupid," he muttered. "I'm sorry. Let me just throw it away."
Fraser didn't move. "Who was it for, exactly?"
Ray didn't want to see Fraser's face, but he couldn't seem to look anywhere else. "You said—when I asked what you wanted, I thought —"
"You thought you'd mock me with it?" Fraser's voice was brittle in a way Ray had never heard before.
"God. No. Look, it was stupid, let's just pretend this never happened. Give me the fucking mistletoe." Ray reached for it with one hand, blinking tears away, not wanting to cry.
"All right," Fraser said, quietly. Ray took it into the kitchen, put down the cheesecake, and threw the plant away. "You want a drink?" he called, needing a second to compose himself.
"I'm fine."
"Figures," Ray muttered, and poured himself a brandy. He took a deep breath and headed back into the living room.
The sight of the tree, all lit up, made him feel a little bit better, at least. Until Fraser opened his mouth again."Can you explain something to me?"
"Shoot," Ray said.
"The mistletoe."
"I thought we were going to pretend this never happened."
"I need to know, Ray."
That brought him up short. He took a long breath and sat down on the couch, carefully not looking at Fraser. "I guess I'm not the first guy to get a crush on you, am I?"
There was silence. It took all of Ray's courage to glance in Fraser's direction, but was that something like hope in Fraser's face? It couldn't be. Ray was deluding himself. Again.
"You...have a crush on me." Fraser sounded disbelieving.
"I just said so, didn't I?"
"And the mistletoe was—"
"I was going to kiss you."
Ray was trying to figure out what to say next—how to explain that he was used to being unrequited-guy, that if they could just ignore this his heart would heal over—when Fraser's hand turned his face, and Fraser kissed him.
Ray felt slightly awkward as they headed for his bedroom. His body was tingling and he knew he had a goofy smile on his face and he couldn't quite believe this was real.
Then Dief started whining, just as Fraser was untucking Ray's shirt.
"Damn it," Fraser muttered, against Ray's lips, and pulled away.
"Frase?" You're leaving me high and dry, here, Ray wanted to say, but didn't.
"I'll be right back. Diefenbaker needs to go outside."
"Already? You just got here."
"Better now than half an hour from now," Fraser said, darkly, and Ray felt himself flush at the thought of what they might be doing in half an hour.
"Uh. Yeah. Right," Ray said, and sat back on the bed and waited.
It felt like Fraser was gone a long time, but the digital clock said it was only four minutes. Ray heard the door open, his heart started racing, and next thing he knew Fraser was lying on the bed next to him. Propped up on one arm. Smiling kind of shyly.
Ray's heart might have burst right about then. He wasn't sure.
"You're back," he said, unnecessarily, and moved right into Fraser's personal space, and kissed him before he could respond.
Fraser kissed like he did everything else: intently. And his body felt amazing next to Ray's. After a while Ray rolled them so he was on top. When their bodies ground together, just for that instant, Ray gasped. Judging from the look on Fraser's face, it felt about that good to him, too.
Ray knelt back and tugged Fraser's shirt free of his jeans. Fraser reached down for the hem, shimmied, and had the shirt over his head and off in about a second. When he lay back, folding his arms behind his head, Ray had to blink—he looked like a centerfold, all pale skin and muscle. Was this really happening?
Ray hadn't been with a lot of guys, but he was smart enough to recognize invitation when he saw it. He bent and closed his mouth around one of Fraser's nipples, enjoying the way Fraser tensed and inhaled hard beneath him.
Fraser's armpit tasted faintly salty, and sucking there made Fraser bite back something that sounded like a moan. "See, you're not the only one who licks weird stuff," Ray said, already moving down to Fraser's ribs. He wanted to get that noise out of Fraser again, and this time at full volume.
Just before he popped open the button on Fraser's jeans, he looked up. Fraser's eyes were wild and his hair was mussed and his nipples were hard little points where Ray had bitten them. "Is this okay?" he asked.
"God, yes," Fraser said, like he really meant it.
Ray's hands were shaking a little as he unfastened Fraser's zipper, but Fraser helpfully lifted his hips so Ray could pull his jeans and boxers down.
He meant to go slow: a lick here and a nibble there, the way he liked it. Tease a little. But the sight of Fraser's cock jutting up like that made him crazy, and he wrapped one fist around the base and slid his mouth down. The noises Fraser was making turned his crank something fierce; Ray slid back a little to rub his own dick against the edge of the bed, little pushes in time with the movement of his mouth.
It wasn't long before Ray was on the verge of coming. That didn't seem fair—the guy getting the blowjob was supposed to come first, right?—so Ray brought his other hand up to rub Fraser's balls. Fraser groaned, surprised and a little desperate, and Ray pulled back long enough to say "c'mon, oh, please," and even though it was a little bit weird that he was the one begging, that did it: Fraser jerked under his hands, and Ray bore down and with one last thrust against the bedspread came in his pants.
They got themselves naked and cleaned off and back in bed, and then Ray remembered the cheesecake, which Fraser said no way were they eating in bed. Which was probably smart.
"We can have it for breakfast," Ray said, a little sleepily. Fraser curled around him.
"I was going to make you pancakes for breakfast," he murmured, into the back of Ray's neck. The feel of his breath made Ray shiver a little.
"Pancakes are good." There was a pause. "You got anywhere to be tomorrow?"
"I'm pleased to say I have Boxing Day off."
"So that's a no, then."
"Right."
Ray shrugged a little, as best he could with Fraser draped over his shoulders. Not that he was complaining. "Bet we can find some way to entertain ourselves."
"I suspect we can." He could hear the smile in Fraser's voice. "If nothing else...we still have that mistletoe."
"Thank God for that," Ray said. And meant it.
The End